Enough is Enough!
A crack in the ant farm discombobulates the matrix, now tilted, now losing speed.
Cyclops sits at the tip of a chanting pinecone, his archaic inner eye scratched in the emergency.
A local physician, loyal to the mountain’s daughter, signs a prescription in cursive font elegant as a Hellenistic vase.
Enough is enough!
Now Zero/Freakshow!
Now climb yourself down into the ruins & rubble of The Narrative.
Say it in your crazy mirror: evitarraN ehT.
Request a ladder. Request an etheric oracle oracular in the aether.
Request the newspaper columnist secretive about cash deposits.
Request the long lost hunting party. Famous for ascending & descending cliffs & chasms.
Or both simultaneously like a hypnotist working the mirror.
& If you find the magic masters of the shapeshifting wand bear in mind
they fought the helicopters to a draw.
Tie your shoelaces to a ball & chain.
Throw yourself into the pit of echoes.
Into the echoes of a child’s musical instrument!
Surgeons sit broken in their spirits on pearlescent chairs.
Lock yourself behind a bolted iron door
as you fine-tune trajectories.
Now Zero/Freakshow! Now proclaim innocence washing your hands
like Pontius Pilate beneath a tilted undulating carnival mirror.
A Tower of Babel bone-blade fragment regurgitates up your throat.
Financial manipulators desecrate the mythological play-acting of children
assigning tokenized value to imaginative play.
& Elsewhere (forever there is an elsewhere),
magic powers determine the shapeshifting wand!
Now in purpose become a falling star.
A falling star remembers Noah gazing into a deep azure sky.
A falling star remembers flash-floods of swirling froth & foam
in diagonal rivers of Gorgon-like rain.
A falling star remembers uncertainty is a certainty & pencils once broken
can never be forgotten.
A falling star is the sign.
& Elsewhere (forever there is an elsewhere),
magic powers determine the shapeshifting wand!
Now in purpose become a bird of prey.
Howling into spinal columns like renegade DNA.
Today is the day of Renegade Beauty!
Now Zero/Freakshow!
Now a day you never imagined!
Nemesis engraved upon the karmic wheel.
Hubris returning in flight aimed like a boomerang.
Shadow wide as the wings of a pterodactyl.
Today is the day of Renegade Beauty!
A day to shriek! To thrash antediluvian wings!
A Renegade Beauty fine-tunes vibrating frequencies, as omnipresent as thunderous hooves of the bison, as kaleidoscopic as vast
flocks of starlings morphing in four-dimensional silent cinema high in the ultramarine sky, transmitted invisibly like radio
waves, edges fit into edges invisibly, like wine in the amphora passed hand to hand.
A Renegade Beauty in vibrations of stringed instruments, in the harmony & purpose of clear seeing, in three-dimensionality
assuming new form, in sailing to engrave the wind as the new world caresses the colour yellow, capturing the wild heart of Vincent
Van Gogh, famous for being a sunflower, famous for emotional visions, like wine in the amphora passed hand to hand.
A Renegade Beauty in the colour yellow & yellow-orange seen by your mother, a child touching a tree. Her fingers trail upon
miniature medieval prayers in rivulets of bark rampaging in small doses across geography & history. In the stereoscopic silence of
vines winding round the emotional tree, beneath a spherical sun mirroring the orbit of Venus, a carved wooden ship surging
through spray & waves, perfumed in destiny like wine in the amphora passed hand to hand.
A Renegade Beauty in channels of coal & sediment, in ice ages & Venus pressed upon purple flower-clouds, aimed in pathways, in
an aura of supernatural static, dry & seeping into tunnels reaching into the deepest past. Coursing beneath the looming institutions
dedicated to officials of The Narrative. The static falls like dew upon shrieking silhouettes of the looming. Corners in profile
honk like geese. A dust storm of X-rays in a box of surrealism, in Renegade Beauty, in sync with frequencies traversing the
aether, like bison asleep in the winter, in warm mounds & hills, in trees bending on the plains mirroring the shape of brotherly &
sisterly love. In brotherly & sisterly kisses, like wine in the amphora passsed hand to hand.
A Renegade Beauty transmitted in the Sri Yantra voice of an oracle, humming, her ear upon the ground, attuning to the root-like,
tendril-like, dandelion seed puffball-like finger-flame designs set upon the oceans of the page. Patterns in the wind seep into
illumination guiding the movement of pen, pencil, brush & stylus in clay. The movement of the palm upward to the sky, nourished
by the original, spherical sun, warm & golden, like wine in the amphora passed hand to hand.
A Renegade Beauty in suffering, in forced migrations of herds & flocks, tribes & orphans. In thirst. In the lonely stomach. In
frequencies of the lonely heart. In leading to the place of the heart. In penetrating to the centre. In the curvilinear. In lines upon the
skin of the face. In rhythms of mortality, in the care & feeding of another, like wine in the amphora passed hand to hand.
No Zero/Freakshow. No, you cannot dissolve it or wash it away.
A snake sheds his skin of transparent parchment coiled in the crown of your hair
as you parade on the red carpet.
In infamy you suffer amnesia.
Beggars beg outside the gates of the looming institutions.
The perambulatory William Blake strides upon a bridge inquisitive,
rising above stones carved in runes.
Working in ink and the materials of the worker.
William Blake interceding, face to face, in the ruins of beauty, measuring
ruined beauty & osmosis at the edges.
Seeding Songs of Innocence at the periphery to the vista.
& One can say to anyone did you not graduate from a pine tree?
& One can say to anyone did you not graduate from a field of clover?
Wings in the centre of language blaze ivory-fire
(Mr. Blake my mother said you would like this bread).
Songbirds line the bridge, one by one, on the quartz railing.
Good morning Mr. Blake they sing as if a lullaby.
In the Temple of Binoculars one wild bull pulls a chain collapsing pillars,
perpendicular & askew.
Tin foil rhinoceros & lions cast shadows.
Cyclops, catching his breath beneath slabs of marble,
warning of the mind & psyche collectively disintegrating.
Who & Where & When?
Little Bo-Peep loses her line of sight to the common grazing grounds.
The perambulatory William Blake delivers an apple & a printed sheaf.
He will decode the cumbersome legalese.
And as for what to undertake they will agree in solidarity.
Now Zero/Freakshow stirs a plastic spoon.
Opens the bathroom cabinet testing powders, creams & fragrant sprays.
Opens the amphora of sorrow rained by the wind.
Surely he resembles Beethoven on a motorcycle.
The oracle flat on the ground behind a half-demolished crumbling wall.
If she returns the instant coffee will be gone.
Her whirling gyres, a fountain foaming, the invisible foaming out a fountain,
all will be gone.
& Elsewhere (forever there is an elsewhere),
Neolithic hunting parties, dressed for the hunt,
materialize in the aether, alive in stone, in bone broth & sound,
asleep for eons in the depths of a pulsating chamber.
Drink, of the Original Thought, lashing vines & interlacing veins.
Drink, of the First Principle, inscribing lengths of wand-like wood.
Magic powers, here & now, determine the shapeshifting wand!
Now in purpose become a whirlwind.
No taller than a heron, speaking in shamanic fits
of rage & grief.
Ash gone white in shamanic fits of shame & disbelief.
& Chanting the ravens’ lucid dreamtime reply into the cauldron.
& Swirling blood-red poetry casting spells of haunting sound.
A carnyx awakens the moon.
What was that? I don’t know. Did you see the hummingbird?
In your psychic prison, Prisoner Zero/Freakshow,
the poison of your fingertips touches the graveyard of your face.
Your silhouette staining The Garden Walls of Babylon shall fade.
Your silhouette staining The Garden Wall of Golgotha shall fade
as you manipulate a pinhole camera. As you sip sucrose-fructose.
As you recalibrate the diabolical.
Vanish! Banished!
Enough is enough!
A Tower of Babel bone-blade fragment regurgitates up your throat.
Request a ladder.
A crack in the ant farm discombobulates the matrix, now tilted, now losing speed.
Cyclops sits at the tip of a chanting pinecone, his archaic inner eye scratched in the emergency.
A local physician, loyal to the mountain’s daughter, signs a prescription in cursive font elegant as a Hellenistic vase.
poemimage 